Trouble Pie
by Lyra Silvertongue2
Summary: Jacey Trinket was just trying to make a start in life...open a bakery, earn his own living. If he only knew what trouble could be baked into those strange marking that have appeared on his floor. Done in response to a challenge. :D
1. Guidelines

My friend Deva showed up to school one fine day with a set of guidelines. She has challenged me to write a story. I must rise to that challenge, or be labeled forever a 'buttfink.' The guidelines for my story follow. Read them if you wish. If you do not wish, just skip to the first chapter. :D  
  
***  
  
GUIDELINES (as provided by Deva):  
  
Write a story. It MUST include:  
  
At least one character from (each of these):  
  
Harry Potter  
  
Yu-Gi-Oh  
  
A Terry Pratchett Book  
  
A Douglas Adams Book  
  
a one paragraph appearance from: Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
  
ONE reference to either Mulder, Scully, or sweet potato pie.  
  
CANNOT be X-Files based (author's note: DAMMIT!)  
  
One reference to something you find funny for no reason (or for a reason, if you must)  
  
One sentence including the following: piggy-wiggy legs (and/or) thnoogy-woogy-wipth, the world may never know, huffed and puffed and developed lung cancer  
  
These phrases/words:  
  
"They just don't understand." "Maybe that's a good thing."  
  
"I can't believe I agreed to this." (Followed by a mock-hurt look)  
  
"Well, it's...well, you know...it's...well...oh, never mind."  
  
knobbly-eyed  
  
"Oh, god! It's a giant ass! Oh, damn my eyes!"  
  
magnificent poof  
  
The following events:  
  
at least one male crossdressing  
  
at least two romances  
  
one disaster that ends up covering everyone in pink powder  
  
two attractive male figures fighting over Deva  
  
one person sings an annoying song while others are trying to say something important  
  
at least one random shapeshifting object (e.g. grapefruit to caterpillar)  
  
***  
  
Because it seemed like the least difficult thing to do, I have chosen to set my story in a Discworld Novel. It promises to be very amusing.  
  
Disclaimer: I can try all I wish to write like Terry Pratchett, but it'll just come out like me trying to imitate Terry Pratchett. Best I can hope to do is just use some of his characters and settings and hope for the best. If that warrants a lawsuit, bring it on.  
  
Let the madness begin. 


	2. Chapter One

And so it begins. Disclaimer's in the guidelines chapter. Enjoy.  
  
***  
  
Jacey Trinket, a straight-laced, starched-collared young man, who had run a decent bakery until very recently, swayed confidently out of the bar and took a good, long whiff of the Ankh-Morpork air. The twin cities of Ankh and Morpork could boast this about the air surrounding them: it was memorable. Visitors to the cities agreed that, yes, it was quite likely they'd never forget the smell of Ankh-Morpork, and could we change the subject, please? Jacey choked on his breath and dashed quickly back into the bar's bathroom to relieve himself of his last three whiskeys. Two minutes later, he clutched muzzzily at the doorframe and shoved himself out into the road.  
  
The sun was peeking tiredly over the horizon. One tiny shaft of light filtered through the rows upon rows of buildings, moving sluggishly, dodging carts and dogs and other things that were barely moving this particular morning, until finally it reached its destination: Jacey Trinket's left eye. He closed it tightly against the obtrusive light. Was it dawn already? Continuing on his swerving route home, he dodged into an alley, and that's when he first heard the noise. Random crashes and bangs, shouts, and underneath all of it was a low keening sound. Jacey's head pounded.  
  
Before long, though, he realized that the noise wasn't all in his head, and pushed himself to stumble a little faster. He emerged just as the sun pushed over the tops of the tallest buildings, flooding the scene playing out in and near his home with near-blinding light.  
  
The place was crawling with Watchmen, members of the city's police force. They were a steadfast group of men (and women. And dwarves, trolls, and...whatevers), prepared to give their lives for the city if absolutely necessary. But they really, sincerely hoped that it wouldn't be absolutely necessary, for their lives' sakes. The surprising thing about it was that they were tearing Jacey's house apart. The man watched in horror as his carefully-baked cakes were thrown to the cobbles. Some of his bedclothes were hanging out of an upstairs window, and there were two Watchmen working on tearing his "Jacey's Mom and Pop Bakery" sign down. Finally Jacey spotted the source of the keening that was beginning to grind his already-frayed nerves.  
  
It was his wife. She stood to the side of things, sobbing desperately. As Jacey made his way toward her, she called out to someone in the house-- "No, not the tea cozy!" --before bursting into a fresh round of tears. Igor, their patchwork manservant, stood beside her, patting her thumpingly on the back.   
  
"There, there, Mithtreth," he told her soothingly. He looked up as Jacey approached on unsteady feet. "I'm tho thorry, Marthter. I tried to thtop them."  
  
"That's--that's okay, Igor. I'm sure there was nothing you could do." Brightly-colored spots danced before Jacey's eyes.  
  
"I could have barricaded the door, thur, but you thaid thpe*thifically*--"  
  
"Nothing in front of the door. I know." Jacey stared at the mess his home had become. He was trying desperately not to think about how all this started, but the memories started creeping up on him...Jacey clutched his pounding head, willing himself not to remember...  
Two months before Jacey Trinket stood before a ruined bakery, a substantial amount of City Watchmen were clustered in the Watchhouse around one tiny figure in pink.  
  
"That's a, uh...manificent...*poof,* Nobby," Sergeant Colon offered.  
  
"Yeah," rumbled Detritus, a troll who made sizeable dents in the doorway each time he walked through it.  
  
"It's not a *poof,*" said the figure in pink indignantly. "Haven't you ever seen a make up puff before?"  
  
"Once," grunted Cheery*, the only dwarf on the force, "on a *woman's* dresser."  
  
"Yours?" Sergeant Angua cocked her head in a way very reminiscent of a dog's.  
  
"Yeah, mine," she replied testily. "And I want it back, Nobby!"  
  
Nobby hit his face violently and suddenly with the puff, causing a great cloud of pink powder to coat the officer standing nearest, who happened to be the chief of the Watch, Commander Vimes.  
  
"If I may ask, Nobby," Vimes asked coolly, pink dust settling in his hair, "why have you chosen, once again, to go undercover as a 'lady'?" _And I use the term lightly,_ he thought to himself.  
  
"Sorry, sir," Nobby dusted some powder off the highest part of the Commander he could reach--his lowest jacket-button. "Well, sir. Um...I thought it would be best for me to meet with the Head of the Guild of Thieves as a woman because...uh..." he floundered lamely.  
  
"Because he'll think he can be more open and honest with a woman. Sir." Colon saluted smartly, speaking in a quick burst of insight.  
  
"Mmm-hmm." Vimes made a gesture to elaborate.  
  
"A...'woman' will be seen as...non-threatening, sir? Head thief won't be as guarded."  
  
"I *could* send Sergeant Angua."  
  
"But, sir!"  
  
"Yes, Nobby?"  
  
"Er..." he quailed under Vimes's gaze, clutching protectively at his puff. "My assignment, sir..."  
  
"VIMES!" a voice roared suddenly. Nobby, startled out of his wits, moved his hands quickly up to protect his overlarge head, and, in doing so, let go of the makeup puff. In slow motion, it tumbled through the air and collided with the ceiling. A room-sized explosion of pink powder rained down upon the officers, and there was, all of a sudden, a very comical sight of an incredibly large, pink troll, and a small, angry, and pink young dwarf, among other things that really shouldn't be mentioned.  
  
"Yes, Danny?" Vimes was utterly stoic, despite being covered in the carnation-colored powder. He addressed a large man who was now standing in the doorway. Danny Scrumpkins, a high-ranking wizard at the Unseen University, was rumored to have gained his position merely by shouting the high-level wizards into giving it to him. Not that he did it intentionally. Danny's voice was loud, true, but he claimed to be speaking in a whisper at all times, and his expression was so earnest when he admitted it that people would cover their ears and apologize for his misfortune.  
  
"SOME TROUBLE, VIMES, WE--HEY, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?"  
  
"Training accident," Vimes spat quickly. "What trouble?"  
  
"BOOK STOLEN." He leaned forward to the pink man, and said, in a conspirateur's whisper, "ARE YOU SURE YOUR OFFICERS SHOULD BE HEARING THIS?"  
  
"My officers can hear anything that I can hear," Vimes said, and it was true.  
  
"WELL, A TOP-SECRET BOOK OF MAGIC WAS STOLEN FROM ITS VAULT..."  
  
"Are you sure it wasn't the Guild of Thieves?" Vimes jumped into full investigator mode. It might have been a trainee at the Guild of Thieves. They were known to do this sort of easy lock-breaking at the Unseen University for practice, and return what they had stolen a few days later, when there weren't so many angry wizards after them.  
  
"NO RECEIPT."  
  
"Ah..." He paused, reflecting. Behind him, Angua shook like the wolf she was (some nights), dislodging most of her own supply of pink dust.  
  
"What kind of book was it?" Cheery spoke up. Good investigator, Cheery. Didn't miss details.  
  
"ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH THE DUNGEON DIMENSIONS?" Danny sounded as if he were about to launch into a lecture. The windows rattled. "THEY ARE THOSE DIMENSIONS THAT CONTAIN UNSPEAKABLE TERRORS--"  
  
"And you lost a book about it. Right. Nobby, cancel your meeting with the Head of Thieves."  
  
"Damn."  
  
"Angua, I want you to--"  
  
"WAIT. THAT'S NOT WHAT THE BOOK'S ABOUT."  
  
Vimes didn't miss a beat. "What is it about, then?"  
  
"IT'S ABOUT THE CONNECTIONS BETWEEN OUR DIMENSIONS AND--"  
  
"The Dungeon Dimensions, yes, you mentioned those."  
  
"NO. IT'S ABOUT THE CONNECTIONS BETWEEN OUR DIMENSION AND OTHERS LIKE IT. HOW TO BRIDGE THOSE CONNECTIONS." Danny's face grew grim, and his voice dropped to a hush tone...a hushed tone for him, anyway. "It's about how to make a portal."  
  
"It's missing?"  
  
"YES," his voice returned to normal levels.  
  
"Do you have any suspects?"  
  
"NO."  
  
Vimes said a very bad word. "Clean up this pink mess, everyone, we've got work to do."  
Jacey Trinket's stomach twisted into a knot. Which knot it was, he couldn't tell. He'd never been a Dingle Scout**, even though all his friends had been, so while they probably still remembered the difference between a MipToad Scrimpy and a Daddy's ol' Loop-de-Loop, he had very little idea what shape his stomach had formed itself into. All he knew was that it hurt.  
  
The bell above the door jingled as his mother stepped into the soon-to-be-opened bakery. Breezing up to the counter, she pulled her son into a weak-armed hug. "Jacey, I'm so proud of you," was no sooner out of her mouth than Jacey knew what subject she was going to broach.  
  
"Mother, I don't want to get married." She sighed. "I've told you before, and I'll tell you again--"  
  
"But it will be so much harder for you to run the bakery alone than with a--"  
  
"No. I'll hire help, mother," he pleaded, exasperated, before gesturing for her to sit down.  
  
Perching on the little stool he had indicated, the woman looked like the Queen of Lancre, not like what she was--a baker's mother. Jacey leaned against the counter and looked at her with a grudging spark in his eye. "But with a wife, you could have a--a friendly advertising scheme."  
  
"You're planning my advertising, mother?"  
  
Settling her hands and purse primly on her crossed legs, she stared him down ingratiatingly. "Jacey."  
  
He sighed. "Why do you *really* want me to get married?"  
  
"Grandchildren," she was suddenly intense.  
  
"You still haven't told me how children are made!" He gestured wildly.  
  
Narrowing her eyes, she shifted on the stool. "I thought they taught you that at the Guild of Bakers."  
  
Looking helpless, Jacey shrugged. "The only thing they could tell me was that it's better than finishing your first souffle." He stared at the floor. "And I haven't even finished my first souffle."  
  
After a long pause, she pointed out with her own brand of logic, "You're too young."  
  
"Mother?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I'm twenty-one."  
  
"Yes, well..." she protested weakly. "Fine. Birds and the bees." There was another long pause.  
  
"Well?" he prompted, his interest peaked.  
  
"Well, it's...well, you know...it's...well...oh, never mind."  
  
"Mo-ther!"  
  
"I'll tell you later. I promise." She changed the subject before he could pound on it again. "I'd really like you to meet Mrs. Milokitt's daughter." Jacey sighed again. "She's quite a cook, so she can help you run the shop, and..." she winked "she's rather attractive." The irony did not pass Jacey by. Here she was, refusing to explain an act that men supposedly enjoyed immensely with women, and she was trying to tempt him with a woman's beauty. Another sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it. "And you should get to know Mrs. Gringo's daughter--"  
  
"Mother..."  
  
Pursing her lips, she shifted again, uncomfortably. "Let me guess. You want a girl who's 'different.'"  
  
Jacey gave that some thought. _Different. Well._ He didn't know much about women. They weren't allowed at the school for the Guild of Bakers, though, frankly, he thought that was ridiculous, considering the amount of women who were skilled at baking. The only women he'd ever really known were his mother and the landlady of his childhood, and they were both formidable. He'd never given much real thought to marrying before--he didn't know anything about it, therefore, it was scary. But now that he thought about it, he concluded that most women were formidable, and thus should be avoided. "Yes," he said slowly. "Different would be nice."  
  
"All right. I'll make all the arrangements," she was now standing in front of him, ready to bustle off and plan things. All you'll have to do if clean that flour off your face."  
  
Quickly swiping his face with his sleeve, Jacey hurriedly followed her to the door. "Wait! What did I just agree to?!"  
  
"You're going to marry that girl," his mother told him matter-of-factly.  
  
"*What* girl?! A name would be nice!"  
  
His mother stopped, the door half-open. "Gait McDougal," she said mysteriously, and then she was gone.  
  
***  
* Pronounced "Cherry"  
** A Dingle is a tiny mammal that lives Hubward of Ankh-Morpork. Its most recognizable traits are its lack of any decent sense and its teeny-weeny little legs. One has to wonder who chose to start a survival club based on the Dingle.  
  
And that will be all for the first chapter. I'd love to have opinions, if you've formed any. Feedback is praised on bended knee. Next chapter will probably be up within a week.  
See y'all next time! 


End file.
